Logs:Vasana

Vasana
CN for oblique references to past child sexual abuse and present adult sibling abuse
Dramatis Personae Charles, Matt
In Absentia Lucien, Scott, Kyinha	2024-02-03 "This strategy does not suit you, I must say. You might do better sticking to what you actually know." (After Charles did a lot of strategizing over his unexpected sexual encounter with Lucien and its even less expected aftermath; followed by matt's intervention.)
Location <NYC> Executive Office Suite - Le Bonne Entente - Astoria - Queens
This is a sleek futuristic private office suite in the Business Center, occupying a corner of the building's west wing. It has an anteroom outfitted as a smaller if still luxurious office for a secretary or security staff. The floor-to-ceiling windows have adjustable tint that, when transparent, afford a spectacular view of the East River and the Manhattan skyline beyond. Aside from natural light, there are LED ceiling panels that come very near to simulating it, a hidden crown molding light strip, and several highly adjustable reading lamps. The kidney-shaped desk is one large smooth touch surface with built-in holoprojectors, connected to the surround-sound speaker system as well as the video conferencing drone that deploys on command from an abstract decorative sconce. There is a huge aquarium recessed into the wall behind the desk, stocked with colorful cichlids that dart in and out of the aesthetically labyrinthine hollows of dark lava rock. Occupying the corner opposite the desk is a plush crescent-shaped sofa that brackets a low oval table, also a holographically enabled touch surface. A sideboard along one interior wall houses a coffee machine and electric kettle, with glassware stored underneath. There is an attached full bath and, coming perhaps somewhat ironically full circle for a rental office in a hotel, a small yet comfortable bedroom in service of burning the midnight oil without, hopefully, burning out. Some necessary changes have been made here -- the doors retrofitted with automatic openers, the desk chair removed, the furniture subtly rearranged for ease of navigating from a wheelchair. Ashok is not a secretary or a bodyguard, but he is lounging in the anteroom anyway, reading a hardbound volume of Strange Tales from a Studio of Leisure that bears the elegant crossroads stamp of Le Carrefour. Beyond the door he is only incidentally guarding, Charles is dressed in casual weekend tweeds, pouring tea for his guest and chattering companionably about its origins -- a relatively recent hybrid of Assam varietals with Taiwanese wild tea. "...did you know it's widely considered now as its own species, after extensive DNA analysis?" He casually appends the relevant information on Camellia formosensis, some articles that explain the history and research in varying levels of technical detail. He adds milk and sugar to his own cup now, then produces an elegant travel chess set of antique wood that is familiar to Matt from previous games outdoors on the grounds of Xavier's. "Will you indulge me with a game? We talk so often over chess, and I expect it's the only thing that makes our conversations tolerable." His psionic presence blooms warmer, offering uninsistent conciliatory comfort. "Mm. The tea doesn't hurt, either. You've never steered me wrong, and I'm sure I'll like this one all the better knowing its pedigree." Matt is slouched in one of the comfortable chairs across from Charles with his chin propped up on one fist, studying the old man with vaguely condescending but not uninterested bemusement. He's wearing a heavy red corduroy shirt over a pale pink tee with a black heart on it sliced open to bleed in technicolor, soft faded blue jeans, and black sneakers. He isn't actually insincere in his anticipation of either tea or chess, however unimpressed he is by the mysterious summons. "But yes, let's play a game." His mindscape is more or less its usual hollow not-calm, unseen pressure like an endlessly--exhaustingly--brewing storm that holds down the sharp-edged things beneath and steadfastly resists comfort. << ({what the fuck is this?}) ({the most awkward intervention?} ({whatever for, I haven't touched the stuff in months}) {My gods, if he leads with "I've been very concerned about you"...} >> "You do realize it's Saturday, no? And you've an office on campus--two offices, arguably, and could easily conjure up infinitely more if you did not find those to your liking." << There's a whole Enterprise D simulation in the Danger Room! Missed a trick not calling me to his ready room. >> He does finally sit up straight to doctor his own tea. Charles arches one eyebrow, the curve of his lips not quite a smile. << I should have liked calling you to my ready room, but I wanted a certitude of privacy even the Danger Room cannot guarantee. >> "I had noticed. I thought it would be less onerous than asking you to trek across town after work. I can compensate you for your time and trouble, of course." He sips delicately at his Genetically Interesting tea. << I fear this may be difficult for you, and I'm asking you to engage in good faith. I hope you know me well enough to believe that I am not interested in judgement. >> He opens the box. scoops one pawn of each color nimbly into each hand without either becoming visible -- the extent of his legerdemain as far as Matt knows -- and offers both fists out for his opponent's choosing. Matt mirrors the arch of that eyebrow over his first sip of tea, his smile unambiguously pleased, bright and characteristically fey. "Well, at least it'd only be a trek across town, however tantalizing the stars." He projects quiet appreciation of the balanced mellow-sharp astringency of the tea, and a less deliberate, wordless sense he ought not be quite so easy to win over. "In any event it's no real trouble, and the tea is unsurprisingly excellent, thank you. I'd be at training if I weren't here, speaking of which..." He sets down his cup and leans forward to bat Charles's left hand. "...I had really rather you compensate me for that. It is time and trouble even when we're not assaulting a heavily fortified government research facility, tsé." He's pre-emptively pushing down something that stirs sluggish in his mind at the thought of Lassiter, and though his grief and bitterness slip past, muted and distant. "But really, Chaz. Why am I here, and whence the dithering?" Charles turns over his hand to reveal a white pawn, which he passes to Matt before deploying the rest of the pieces so he can lay the board flat between them. He's developing a slow frown as he sets up his side of the board with his usual fussy precision. << You're not paid? The X-Men? >> He allows the sense of mental rifling to bleed through into his aura for Matt's benefit. Now he does blush, rolling a black rook between his fingers before placing it and carefully nudging it to the center of its square. << I suppose you are security staff, of a sort. I'll talk to Scott about it. >> He pushes aside the faint embarrassment he absolutely did not need to let slip and busies finishing his setup. << I have been very concerned about you. >> There's a brief quirk of ironic amusement behind those words. << But the concern that summoned you here today is a bit more complicated than an intervention, per se. >> Then, aloud, "Lucien has recently taken me on as a client -- in a sex work capacity." His steady voice somehow does not jar against the quiet of the room, filled otherwise only by the burbling of the aquarium's filtration system. Matt is less precise but faster with his setup, and he places his queen's pawn last as his first move--a common enough one, for him. He looks up from the board at Charles as he picks his tea back up. "Oh! I suppose you can divine now why I'd never recommended him to you before, but since you know about that concern in any event...." The flush of his pride is bright and unmuted, at least. "Well. He is very good at what he does, in that and every other capacity." He tilts his head quizzically. "But you hardly need my permission to << (fuck) >> employ my brother. Would you like tips on tipping?" "Oh, I asked Roberto about tipping, but I do appreciate the offer." Charles's answering move comes swift and unexpectedly aggressive. "He is indeed very good at what he does," he allows primly, and though his tone is steady enough there is an uncharacteristic tension in the set of his shoulders. "Better than I'd been entirely prepared to expect. Indeed, I was -- we were both so unprepared the first time we we had sex..." << ...that my psionic shielding failed altogether, and I saw some rather alarming memories in his mind. >> "Mm. Kyinha is delightfully creative in that regard--he paid off our mortgage by way of a tip, once." Matt hardly even thinks about his next move, though it is likely not the one Charles was expecting and seems to ignore black's daring bold offense altogether. There's a sudden ominous shift in the oppressive stillness of his mindscape. "I trusted you would take care with my brother's mind, and I loathe to think that trust misplaced." The jagged thing struggling to surface in him is very decidedly anger, but he keeps it tightly controlled. His voice is very even when he continues, "{What memories did you see, pray tell me, and how did they alarm you.}" Charles hesitates but ultimately presses his attack, if less confidently than before. << {I swear to you I did not pry, but the way that his mind is...} >> His lips compress, and a cool shiver passes through his warmth. << {I could not help glimpsing some of the abuse he suffered in early childhood, some of which was unfortunately relevant to the capacity in which I am employing him.} >> He clasps his hands together tight. << I think that trauma, combined with his...neurological differences, mutation-related and otherwise, have made him particularly susceptible to internalizing and prioritizing the needs of others. Even when it brings harm to himself. >> The stare Matt levels at Charles now is withering in the sheer force of its disdain. He is exercising his formidable skills in active mental redirection now, little though that would stop the world's most powerful (with caveats) telepath if he did care to pry past the glittering chaff of countless beloved lines from countless beloved books. "{I was there,}" he says delicately, "{and I am well aware of his propensities.} But if I were not, you do realize this would be a violation of his privacy, no?" Still evidently heedless of Charles's counterattack, he starts emptying his back rank, king's knight leading the charge. "This strategy does not suit you, I must say. You might do better sticking to what you actually know." Charles averts his gaze from Matt's in favor of studying his somewhat precarious offense. << {I know that you were quite young yourself, that you also came to harm, that you were and are trying to help. I only fear the scope of his damage is beyond your ken.} >> He does start to see to his pawn structure, though it might well be too late to change tacks to the defensive. << {I do not fault you for that, and as I said I am not here to pass judgment. But you have harmed and may yet harm him more by trying to fix something you do not understand.} >> There's a brief hesitation here, and a flutter of chill in his psychic aura that fades back into warmth almost as quickly as it came. The blast of chill across Matt's mind does not pass, but presses in against the sharp edges of his anger. "Do you suppose I do not know I've harmed him? Or that I don't care whether I harm him further? You have no concept what lengths I would go to protect him." Through his failing psionic defense, his thoughts come in an unsteady stutter of << (how dare you) (how dare I) ({what the hell did he see}) >>. The oppressive weight of nothingness that holds down his emotional processing shivers and thrums and threatens to give way. He barely even looks at the board when he sends his king's bishop out unsupported, reckless even by his own standards. "Check." "I suppose no such thing, and I'm sure I've no concept of that." Charles frowns at the board, his lips compressing at, presumably, more than the mess they've made of this game so early on. "But it is quite impossible for us to avoid harm, and we are far and away more likely to visit it upon those we love than anyone else. It is a lifelong process learning to bring less pain and more healing when we can." His voice still does not sound odd breaking the aural quiet of the room, but he still apparently thinks better of doing so again. << I know you...struggle with a desire to control and even to hurt others. I do not think ill of you for it and instead find your strength of resolve all the more formidable. >> He finally takes the only path out of check and captures the white bishop with a pawn he was probably hoping to develop rather than leave alone and defenseless. << {But the ways your lives have been intertwined, the pain you've endured apart and together, and the complimentary yet vastly disparate impact of your respective powers on how you interact with the world -- these all make it hard for either of you to see the ways your control subsumes his will.} >> Matt breaks into an incongruous smile at the move he'd forced his opponent to take. << Ah yes. Noted mutant ethicist Charles Xavier sees fit to rape my brother's mind unprotected and then turn around and accuse me of interfering with his will. >> The smile is gone in a flash as the pressure in his mind is blasted away by an explosion of breathtaking fury. The crinkles around his eyes that had looked delighted just a moment ago now harden in rage, though the fey gleam in his eyes remains somehow unchanged and all the more disturbing for it. << Let me be absolutely clear... >> He's no longer masking his thoughts, but through the harsh glare of his rage it's hard to make sense of anything else emanating from his mind. "{You don't know our life, you don't know my brother,}" he says aloud if not loudly, his tone so aggressively reasonable and sweet as to render the tumble of sacres that follow all the more jarring, "{and you sure as goddamn shitfucking hell don't know me.} But I do. I've known all along what he needed, only to let self-righteous moralizing cocksuckers like you make me afraid to take care of him." He captures the isolated black pawn with his queen, suddenly projecting pure menace into Charles's half-built fortress. "Check. Mate in five." He rises, not even bothering to finish his tea, but as he's turning to go he pauses long enough to add, "Or less, if you fuck up again. I'll see you on Monday." Charles lets out the breath that he'd not been quite conscious of holding when the door shuts out the sharp claws of Matt's anger. He rubs his temples slow and meditative as he looks down at the humiliatingly brief game, his expression pinched with pain and worry. It's only at a significant delay -- perhaps after playing out every sequence of moves left to him -- that he reluctantly topples his king.